Lingering Ghosts
by Lady of Ithilien
Summary: Life after Naraku's defeat should have been easy. But between dealing with an unstable marriage and uncovering the truth behind his parents' relationship, Miroku finds that his trials are far from over.
1. Prologue

**Pre-Story Blatherings:** Hello, and welcome to my first attempt at a chaptered Inuyasha fanfic. Needless to say, I'm insanely nervous about posting this. But anyway, this story is an extension of the one-shot that I wrote not too long ago, _Hope_, which centers on Miroku's father. I liked what I'd written of his parents' relationship, and I wanted to find a way to expand on it, but I also didn't want to write something exclusively about them. So I thought it might be interesting to write a story where Miroku learns more about his parents and even meets his mother's family. And that's where this idea came from. Most of what you'll see here about Miroku's parents (with the exception of the Kazaana issue, of course) is pure speculation on my part. Names, personalities, and situations are all my creations.

**Rating:** PG-13, just to be safe  
**Pairings:** Miroku/Sango, with some Inuyasha/Kagome on the side  
**Summary:** Life after Naraku's defeat should have been easy. But between dealing with an unstable marriage and uncovering the truth behind his parents' relationship, Miroku finds that his trials are far from over.

**Lingering Ghosts**

Prologue

Yasuo was pulled from the darkness by the humming of a cheerful tune and the press of a wet cloth on his forehead. He opened his eyes to the blurry world and was greeted by a face he couldn't clearly see.

"Oh, you're awake." Yasuo blinked several times, and the face of a girl, looking no older than eleven, gradually came into focus. "We were all pretty worried for a while there. We weren't sure if you could be saved when those farmers brought you in."

He opened his mouth to speak, but found that his throat was too dry to do more than croak out, "Where?"

"The Furugawa castle. Our farmers were the ones who found you out in the forest." The girl handed him a cup. "Here, you should—"

Yasuo's eyes snapped wide open. "Naraku!"

"Huh?" The girl glanced about the room, wondering if this Naraku person had wandered in without her knowing. Bemused, she looked back at the monk to find him staring at her with an earnest expression.

"Tell me – when I was found, was there anyone else? Was there a youkai nearby?"

She raised her eyebrows. "Uh… not that I know of."

Yasuo closed his eyes, looking for a moment to be in deep concentration until finally a smirk appeared on his face. "So he ran off, did he? I must have gotten in more damage than I thought."

The girl's eyebrows disappeared beneath her bangs. "Ohh, I get it now!" she exclaimed with a grin. "You were exterminating a youkai, weren't you? I knew you were a monk, with your robes and all, but I didn't think you were an exorcist, too!"

Yasuo looked away, pensive once again. "Heh. I suppose you could say that."

"You don't look old enough. How old are you?"

"Fifteen."

"That's still pretty young, though. Shouldn't you be traveling with your master?"

A heavy pause, then, "He's dead."

The girl's excitement faded. "Oh. I'm sorry."

Yasuo blinked, bringing his gaze back to the young girl. He gave her a small smile. "No need to apologize."

She returned the smile. "So do I get to hear your name? Or are you just going to make me call you 'houshi-dono' or something?"

"My name is Yasuo. And may I ask yours?"

The girl closed her eyes and raised her chin in what would have looked to be a regal pose had she not been so young. "I am Furugawa Chiyo, youngest princess of the Furugawa clan." Before Yasuo could consider being confused, she went on, "I know, I know – you're wondering why a lovely princess like myself is here treating a vagabond monk. Well, I'll tell you: It's because the rest of our household is busy with the lavish preparations for my eldest sister's wedding – which, by the way, my family does so hope you will be attending, should you recover in time."

Yasuo regarded her thoughtfully. "You must have been terribly bored to have spent all this time thinking up such an introduction."

Chiyo scowled, ruining her attempt at a noble bearing. "Yeah, well, it's not my fault you took forever to wake up. Oh, before I forget—" She once again handed him the cup. "The physician said that you needed to drink this. It's medicinal."

"Thank you," he said, taking the cup. When he had finished the drink and returned the cup to her, Chiyo took hold of his hand – that same hand on which he wore a sealing gauntlet.

"This is a funny-looking glove," she remarked, examining the purple fabric and the blue rosary wrapped around it. "What are you wearing it for?"

He made no reply but to jerk his hand out of her grasp. He clenched it against his chest, a pained expression marring his handsome young face.

"I'm sorry," he whispered into the awkward silence that followed. "Know only that it's nothing I would want to involve you in."

.-.-.

_Forty years later_

Furugawa Takara knelt beside the futon where her son lay, drenched in sweat, fighting for each breath. He was Takara's youngest son, the only son she had left, and the last son that she would have to outlive.

Without taking her eyes off the boy, she spoke to the girl beside her. "Kumiko."

"Yes, Mother?"

Only weariness could be found in Takara's voice, that weariness that had nestled inside her many years before. "We must find your cousin."

Kumiko frowned at this enigmatic statement. "But none of my cousins are alive, Mother."

"You speak only of the cousins that you have been told of. One other remains." Before her daughter could question her further, Takara continued in the same tired tone, "Tell our messengers to seek out the monk Yasuo. It is time for us to discover what has become of Houshi-dono."

.-.-.-.

**Translation Stuff**

_Houshi-dono:_ In case there's anyone reading this who doesn't watch the show in Japanese – "houshi" is the term for a low-ranking Buddhist monk, often known to have combat training. Miroku is a houshi, as were his father and grandfather. The suffix "-dono" is a term of respect, usually reserved for someone of a higher rank. I've used it here for Yasuo mainly because "-sama" didn't seem appropriate and because "-san" just didn't sound right. "-Dono" seemed like a nice middle ground. Of course, I'm no expert in honorifics, so if anyone wants to refute this, feel free.

Right, enough of that. The first chapter is just about finished, I only need to read over it some more and see what I want to tweak here and there. Normally, I wouldn't post the beginning of a story like this one if I haven't written more of it; but I'm thinking of this as a trial run, to see if anyone is even interested. If no one wants to read it, I know I can take things at a leisurely pace. And if people _do _want to read it, well, rock on.

And yes, Inuyasha-tachi do show up in the first chapter. I know I'm treading dangerous ground by having a prologue that features entirely unfamiliar characters, but alas, 'tis necessary, and I hope it doesn't deter anyone from coming back for more.

Feedback is much appreciated. Thanks for reading!


	2. Summons

Disclaimer: I don't own the sandbox, I just like to play in it.

.-.-.-.

Chapter 1 – Summons

.-.-.

Thundering hooves broke through the tranquility surrounding the mountain temple where Hacchi had made his temporary home. Startled out of his nap, the tanuki ran inside the temple as fast as his plump legs would carry him.

It didn't take him long to locate the temple's other inhabitant. Mushin was also dozing, but the pounding feet of the approaching horses were not enough to disturb the monk from his drunken stupor.

"Mushin-sama!" said Hacchi frantically, kneeling to shake the old man. "Mushin-sama, wake up!"

Heavy lids blinked slowly at the tanuki. "Hacchi? What is it?" Mushin didn't seem at all concerned about his companion's frenzied state.

"There are horses coming! Quickly, too!"

"Horses?" Mushin frowned blearily. It was rare for him to have visitors at his secluded temple, even rarer for them to be in a hurry to get there. He walked outside, scratching his stomach and yawning.

Stepping out to the top of the stairs that sat upon the mountain, Mushin could see ten horses below with their riders. One of the riders dismounted and ascended the stairs. As the man came closer, Mushin saw that he was middle-aged and stern, wearing the armor of a samurai.

Mushin tapped himself on the cheek in an effort to shake off his lethargy. "Good morning," he greeted with a slight bow when the man reached him.

"Are you the monk Mushin?" The man's harsh voice matched his strict countenance.

"I am. Is there anything I can do for you?"

Without salutation, the samurai replied, "I am Kuromatsu Seiji, general of the Furugawa clan. I have come to speak to the monk Yasuo. I was told I could find him here."

Mushin raised his bushy eyebrows. _Yasuo… _That was a name he hadn't heard in a long time. "I'm afraid Yasuo passed away many years ago."

Frowning, Kuromatsu responded, "No matter. This only directly concerns Yasuo's son. Take me to him."

_So the Furugawa clan wants to see Miroku. _"You won't find him at this temple. He left here a long time ago."

Kuromatsu's frown deepened. "Can you tell me where he is now?"

Some time later, as the sound of hoof beats faded to a distant rumble, Mushin went back inside the temple, where Hacchi was waiting for him.

"Are you sure that was wise, Mushin-sama? Telling them Master Miroku's whereabouts? They could be out to harm him."

"No," Mushin replied casually, laying himself back onto the floor to continue his nap. "I had a feeling the Furugawa clan would seek him out one day." He yawned. "Besides, I'm sure it's nothing Miroku can't handle."

.-.-.

"That was a waste of time," Inuyasha growled. "All this way for some wimpy centipede. _Shippou_ could've beaten this one – should've sent him to take care of it and saved myself the trip."

Kagome smiled good-naturedly. "Oh, it's nothing you couldn't handle, right?"

"'Course I can handle it, I just don't want to spend all of my time wandering the countryside, killing off youkai because you humans can't take care of things on your own. What do these people think I am, their personal exterminator?"

"Come on, Inuyasha, you know you're bored out of your mind when you have to stay in the village all day long."

"Keh!"

_The ever-brilliant retort_, thought Kagome with a sigh even as a small smile crept onto her face. A little griping from Inuyasha didn't bother her; it only served to remind her that they no longer had anything important to be upset about. After living in uncertainty for so long, she had come to appreciate a peaceful life.

Well, as peaceful a life as Kagome could have, at least.

Inuyasha halted suddenly, his ears twitching, and turning around he lifted his nose to sniff the air. Before Kagome could make any inquiries, he had taken her by the waist and pulled her off the road. Only a few seconds passed before she heard it as well – horses coming up fast behind them.

Sure enough, a group of men on horseback thundered past them not long after. They came and went without sparing a glance at the pair.

Inuyasha snorted. "Guess they're in a hurry." He released his grip on Kagome and continued down the road.

"They're heading in the same direction as we are," she mused, idly taking hold of Inuyasha's hand and ignoring the blush that flew across his face as she did so. "I wonder if they're going to Kaede-obaachan's village…"

"Feh, why would they want to go there? Unless they were looking for a good place to pillage, in which case I wouldn't blame 'em."

"Inuyasha," she reprimanded, nudging him with her elbow.

"Yeah, yeah…" Without warning, he pulled her onto his back and bounded off into the forest at what was to him a leisurely pace. When Kagome looked at him questioningly, he mumbled, "You walk slow."

She smiled and buried her face in his back.

.-.-.

After fifty years of relative peace, the townsfolk of the village that housed the Shikon no Tama had been forced to adjust themselves to the daily chaos that came with harboring youkai, a hanyou, a girl from the future, and a pair of extremely volatile newlyweds.

This chaos was currently manifesting itself in the form of two very different voices coming from a hut on the outskirts of town.

The first voice was calm and reserved: "I still think you're overreacting."

The second sounded as if it would be more suited for a battlefield: "I saw what you were looking at, houshi-sama, and it _wasn't _her eyes!"

"I assure you, my intentions were completely honorable."

"The day your intentions are honorable is the day I grow a beard!"

Two young boys sat outside the hut, both pretending they weren't listening intently to the argument going on within.

The smaller of the boys sighed, stretching his hands above his head. "Guess we should've known they wouldn't change after they got married."

His companion, a human not yet in his teens, replied, "It seems like they get along most of the time, but whenever they _do_ fight…"

"Better look out," Shippou concluded with a solemn nod.

"Miroku-sama always seems so calm about it, but I guess ane-ue's temper just gets the better of her."

"Has she always been like that?"

"Not often… not that I've seen, anyway."

Shippou smirked. "Maybe Miroku just brings out the worst in her."

"Maybe… but he makes her happy most of the time, right?"

"I dunno." The kitsune stood, having apparently grown bored with listening to the argument going on inside the hut. "Grown-ups are weird like that. They always seem to stick with the person who gets to them the most. So even if they really like each other, they'll still argue a lot. That's what I've noticed, anyway." Seeing the perplexed look his companion was wearing, Shippou grinned. "Don't worry, you'll get used to it."

Kohaku sighed wearily as he stood to follow the fox cub. "Like I don't already have enough to get used to." Going through three lives could put a strain on anyone, and the eleven-year-old taijiya was no exception.

_He had awoken to his third life with the same image that had ended his first – the tear-stained face of his beloved sister. Vaguely he could hear the sheathing of a sword accompanying the joyful gasp of a little girl._

"_You did it, Sesshoumaru-sama – you saved him!"_

"_Rin, we're leaving."_

"_Right!"_

_Kohaku tore his gaze away from his sister, to be met with one of the brightest smiles he'd ever seen. Rin waved at him energetically, impossibly cheerful for a girl who had just watched hell erupting all around her. "I have to go now, Kohaku. I hope we'll see each other soon!" With that, she turned and trotted after the youkai lord._

"_Se- Sesshoumaru…" Sango stammered, clutching Kohaku tightly. "You saved…" A sob cut her off, and she buried her face in her brother's hair._

_As Sesshoumaru passed his half-brother, Inuyasha spoke in a low tone that did not fully hide his amazement, "I thought you hated humans. So why?"_

"_This Sesshoumaru does not need to explain his motives to anyone, least of all you." He continued on, not looking back once._

Four weeks had passed since Naraku's defeat, and Kohaku was still adjusting to his new life in a new village – with a new brother-in-law.

Miroku was likeable enough; it had simply come as a shock to the boy when – after having just been reunited with his sister – he'd learned that her wedding would not be far behind. Kohaku had always thought Sango to be above the reach of any man. He had to admit to himself that he'd never really seen her as a woman. She had been a sister and a warrior, not someone to be tied down by marriage.

Kohaku had been rather standoffish towards Miroku at first, mainly due to shyness, but also because deep down, he couldn't help but feel cheated. He was finally allowed to return to his sister, and he had to share her affections with someone else. But the monk had been patient and understanding, and a friendly truce now existed between the two men in Sango's life.

And now, after four weeks of being followed by a clingy, worrisome sister, Kohaku was starting to wish she'd spend more time with her husband.

Shippou's voice cut through Kohaku's musings. "Why so quiet?" The kitsune sighed dramatically. "Just when I thought I'd gotten you to talk more…"

"I was just thinking," Kohaku replied, embarrassed that he'd left his companion in silence for so long.

"About?"

He started to shrug the inquiry off, but instead decided that he'd rather vent on the subject to his new friend. Heaving a sigh, he said, "It's ane-ue. I'm glad to be back with her, but I really wish she'd stop worrying about me so much."

"Ohh, I see," said Shippou knowingly. "She _has_ kept a pretty tight leash on you."

Kohaku kicked at the grass sourly. "I know. I didn't mind so much at first, but now I feel like…" He trailed off as he stared out towards the other side of the village, where specks in the distance had caught his attention.

Shippou followed Kohaku's gaze, and his sharp youkai eyes were able to discern ten rapidly approaching horsemen.

"Looks like they're heading into the village," said Shippou, cocking his head to the side. "I wonder what they want?"

"Should we go back?"

"Yeah." The cub hopped onto his shoulder. "Nothing to do out here anyway."

They soon found themselves back at the hut; a brooding silence now hung in the air, and the spot they had recently vacated was currently occupied by a sullen monk with a tell-tale red handprint on his cheek. His eyes were closed, his arms crossed over his chest, a slight scowl marring his face. He was perfectly still but for the periodic twitching of one eyebrow.

The two boys regarded him silently for a moment, until at last Shippou spoke up, "Still think she was overreacting?"

Miroku's normally smooth voice now came close to a growl. "Most assuredly."

"Maybe it would help if you weren't such a lecher." Shippou's attempt at a serious tone was ruined when he grinned smugly. Kohaku had learned early on that the seemingly innocuous kitsune quite enjoyed seeing Miroku punished for his wandering hands and eyes (though this joy didn't compare to the euphoria he displayed whenever Inuyasha was sent face-first into the ground by a single word from Kagome).

"She misunderstood," Miroku stated firmly. "I was staring straight ahead when that girl walked into my line of sight. If my gaze lingered at all, it was purely by accident."

"Su-u-ure," Shippou drawled, smirking.

A timid voice interrupted the exchange. "Ah – Miroku houshi-sama?" They turned to find the village headman slowly approaching, followed by the group of soldiers that Kohaku and Shippou had previously spotted. Miroku stood to meet them.

"Miroku houshi-sama, these men have come to speak with you."

The monk nodded his thanks to the headman, then turned to regard the samurai who looked like he felt himself the most important of the group – Kohaku assumed him to be the leader. "May I help you?"

The samurai spoke gruffly, "Are you the son of Yasuo?"

Miroku raised his eyebrows, apparently surprised at the address. That he would be so taken aback by being called his father's son struck Kohaku as odd, especially coming from a man who didn't so much as blink at being called "bouzu."

But only a brief second passed before he regained his bearings. "I am. Is there something I can do for you?"

Almost as one, the haggard soldiers all seemed to let out a combined sigh of relief. From the looks of them, they had been traveling for quite a while to find Miroku. Their leader, however, remained harsh and unstirred. "I am Kuromatsu Seiji, representing the Furugawa clan." He paused, waiting for a response from Miroku, but the monk only stared back with polite curiosity. Kuromatsu, who already looked like he would rather be in a youkai's mouth than here speaking to a houshi in some backwater village, scowled deeply. "Have you not heard of the Furugawa clan?"

Miroku nodded slowly, and Kohaku guessed he was trying to ascertain why exactly that name should be of importance to him. "From what I have heard, they are a powerful military clan ruling north of here."

Kuromatsu's undisguised distaste transformed into outright indignation. "Is that all you have to say about your mother's family?"

Miroku's surprise was not so easily masked this time. Kohaku heard a small gasp coming from behind him, and he did not need to turn to know that his sister was now watching the exchange from the doorway of the hut.

And still, Miroku's voice remained unruffled. "Forgive my ignorance. I've had no prior contact with my mother's family, and I did not know my mother, as she died giving birth to me."

"I am aware of all that," Kuromatsu replied irritably. "We had simply thought – or hoped, rather – that Yasuo would have honor enough to at least keep his son informed of his own lineage." The samurai wrinkled his nose, seeming to take great satisfaction at staring down from his mount at the unassuming houshi. "_Clearly_, we were mistaken." He let out a long sigh of resignation. "All this way… but it can't be helped. I told Takara-sama that Yasuo's son was likely a monk himself, and would probably hold no interest in our affairs; but she was adamant."

A humble, innocent smile crept onto Miroku's face. "And… Takara-sama would be…?"

"Your uncle's wife!" snapped Kuromatsu; Kohaku thought he saw a vein throbbing in the man's forehead. But the soldier sucked in as calming a breath as he could manage. "As I was saying, Takara-sama has requested that you come to the Furugawa castle so that she might discuss some important matters with you." As he spoke, he motioned for one of his men to come forward and hand Miroku a scroll. "Takara-sama has enclosed the details in this letter. Should you decide to accept her request, I assume you will be able to find your way to our territory. I estimate it is a little over a week's ride from here to the castle. If we do not see or hear from you within a month, we shall assume that you will not be coming."

As Miroku stared thoughtfully at the scroll, the village headman spoke up timorously, "My lord, shall I arrange a place for you and your men to rest for the night?"

"That won't be necessary," Kuromatsu responded curtly. He signaled his men, and within seconds the ten horses were galloping out of the village. A heavy silence filled the air that they had just emptied, in which the headman bowed and hurried back the way he had come.

"Ten soldiers to deliver a letter?" Shippou commented with raised brows, then muttered, "Miroku must be more important than we all thought."

Miroku sighed, turning back towards the hut. "No, I think _they're_ the ones who are 'important.'" He walked inside, not even sparing a glance at his wife as he stepped past her.

"Houshi-sama," she murmured as she stared after him, hand clutched worriedly to her chest.

.-.-.-.

.-.-.

**Translation Stuff (or, In Case You Were Wondering…)**

_Ane-ue: _A respectful and archaic way of addressing one's older sister, and the name that Kohaku commonly uses for Sango.  
_Bouzu:_ An insulting term for a Buddhist priest – you'll sometimes hear Inuyasha use this when he's mad at Miroku. Hee hee.  
_Hanyou:_ Half-youkai, half-human.  
_Kitsune:_ The Japanese word for a fox, or a fox spirit/demon such as Shippou.  
_Obaachan:_ A familiar way of addressing an old woman/grandmother.  
_Taijiya: _An exterminator – Sango and Kohaku came from a taijiya village.  
_Youkai: _This is almost always translated as "demon," but it basically covers many kinds of magical beings and monsters from Japanese mythology.

(Information from http : autumney . net / iy / index . html, a lovely site that I've become quite dependent on.)

Thank you very much to Quiet Escapist, listersgirl, morelen, and Dante Gemini for your words of encouragement. I really appreciate the reviews, and I'm so glad you guys are enjoying this.

Feedback would be lovely, especially as I'm uncertain about how the characterization turned out. Thanks for reading!


	3. Yesterday's Shadows

A little note, to hopefully avoid any confusion - the flashback at the beginning of this chapter takes place shortly after the first scene of the prologue (maybe a week or two later).

.-.-.-.

Chapter 2 – Yesterday's Shadows

.-.

_Chiyo stormed through the hallways of the castle, marching towards the kitchens, where their guest had last been seen. Her companion, a girl only a year her senior, scampered after her as fast as her delicate kimono would allow._

"_Why won't you believe me?"_

"_It's just too outrageous, Takara-chan," Chiyo declared. "I'm not going to believe it until I hear it from his own mouth!"_

"_It's true!" insisted Takara. "I heard it myself – I was in the middle of my tea-serving lesson when I clearly heard Houshi-dono ask one of the serving girls to have his children!"_

_Chiyo rolled her eyes. "No way. He's a monk! A monk wouldn't ask that sort of thing."_

_As she opened the door leading to the kitchen, she commented over her shoulder, "Besides, aren't monks supposed to be celibate?"_

_When she brought her gaze forward into the room, she was met with the sight of Yasuo's outstretched hand heading directly towards the rear end of an oblivious servant girl._

_Their eyes locked and they both froze. Yasuo's fingers twitched as if in guilt. Chiyo could only stare dumbstruck at the scene before her._

"_I_ told _you," Takara muttered._

_Yasuo straightened, sticking the offending hand into his sleeve. "Ah… allow me to explain…"_

_Chiyo could only sputter out something that sounded like "sukebe houshi" before she collapsed on the floor in a fit of giggles._

.-.

Kagome and Inuyasha returned to the village that afternoon, but they only stayed long enough to greet their friends and to hear Shippou's account of the incident with the Furugawa soldiers. Soon afterwards, they had both gone through the Bone-eater's Well and back to Kagome's time. With Naraku out of the way, Kagome was spending most of her days in her own world, and Inuyasha – who was running out of trivial excuses to make her stay in the Feudal Era – often went with her.

The pair had not seen Miroku, however. The monk had stayed inside the hut for the remainder of the day, and no one had wanted to intrude on whatever thoughts he was likely mulling over. In front of the samurai, he had presented a calm and humble air; but Sango had not missed the concern that weighed on his face when he'd walked past her, carrying a letter from an aunt he had never met, the summons from a family he had never known.

When Sango finally entered the hut that night, she saw Miroku sitting with his back against the far wall, eyes closed and legs crossed in what she had determined to be his "meditation pose." Not wanting to disrupt his concentration, she considered waiting outside; but the sun was starting to set and with it was departing what little warmth had been found that late autumn day. And so, her baser desires for the hearth and a warm meal won over, and she continued inside as quietly as she could manage, preparing herself for an evening of silence.

Shortly after the encounter with Kuromatsu, Shippou had dragged Kohaku to some other part of the village, probably to visit Kaede. When Sango had tried to follow, Kohaku had quickly called out over his shoulder, _"I'll be fine, ane-ue! See ya!"_

He would likely end up staying the night with Shippou in Kaede's hut, as he had done the previous two nights. It upset Sango to have him out of her sight for too long. Deep down she knew that she was being paranoid; yet that did nothing to stop her longing to crawl over to his futon in the middle of the night and hold him tightly, reminding herself that he was alive, reminding Kohaku that he was not alone, that things would get better, that she could never hate him for what he'd done.

This urge was especially strong whenever she witnessed his nightmares getting the better of him.

It should have helped that Miroku gave no objections to Kohaku receiving most of Sango's attention; but somehow, it was humbling and almost embarrassing for her to know that her husband was willing to be pushed aside in favor of her brother. It felt as though she had to choose between being a good wife and being a good sister, as she could not seem to find that middle ground where she could be both.

She sat down heavily beside the fire pit. _I must be the worst wife in history._

Sango glanced at Miroku out of the corner of her eye and gave a start when she saw him staring back at her.

"I'm sorry," she muttered, embarrassed that she had not noticed his gaze sooner. "Did I disturb you?"

"Not at all." He closed his eyes again. "Your presence gives me comfort."

A light blush flew across her cheeks, and not for the first time she wondered how he could be so calm with her even after she had spent an entire morning fighting with him.

She searched about herself for a distraction before her stomach reminded her of that hot meal she'd been thinking of earlier. But just as she began to reach for a cooking pot, she heard movement behind her and soon felt a hand on her shoulder.

"Aren't you supposed to be meditating?" she asked as Miroku pushed her hair away so that he could kiss the back of her neck. Her surprise at his sudden show of affection interfered with her attempt at a cold tone.

"The wisest of holy men would abandon enlightenment for you," he murmured, trailing his lips lightly across her skin and leaving goose bumps in his wake.

Sango knew that he was sweet-talking her as he had done many other women. She knew, but baser instincts coupled with a love she could not for the life of her understand were fighting her stiff reasoning. She turned her head towards him ever so slightly, and seizing the proffered opening as a hunter would his prey, he leaned forward and pressed his lips firmly to hers. This was certainly not the first kiss they'd shared in the past few weeks, but there was an urgency, a fervor to his touch that she'd not felt before.

"H-houshi-sama," she prompted shakily as his lips danced across her face; she was still quite flustered by his passion, but there was enough purpose in her voice to make him pull away and stare patiently. "Houshi-sama, are you all right?" She felt rather silly asking him that – wasn't he the most serene of all of them, the one that unrest did not tread upon?

He closed his eyes and was silent for a moment, and it was only then that Sango noticed how his entire body seemed slumped, how his brows were creased with worry. His face carried an almost pained expression.

But the moment was fleeting, and soon he opened his eyes and gave her a mischievous smirk. "Actually, Sango, I was hoping you would provide me with some distraction tonight." The roguish grin he wore left no doubts as to what kind of distraction he had in mind, and Sango's face turned a deep shade of red.

"Houshi-sama!" she exclaimed, fighting the urge to back away. But she didn't protest when he leaned in once again and began to slowly rub her neck.

As Miroku peppered her collarbone with kisses, she inquired, her voice unsteady, "Distraction from what?"

She felt him let out a long sigh against her neck. "You know, asking something like that sort of defeats the purpose that I'm trying to attain here."

"And who said I wanted to help?" she demanded, pushing him and his troublesome lips away. "How do you know I'm not still angry about what you did this morning?"

"Sango," he spoke softly. There was a plea in his gentle voice, and all at once it struck her that he was still unsettled by the encounter with Kuromatsu.

She winced inwardly, suddenly ashamed of her actions. Miroku drove her crazy sometimes, but she cared for him nonetheless. After all he'd done for her, it was the least she could do to help him with whatever was troubling him. She reached out and tentatively placed her hand atop his. "Houshi-sama… what was in that letter?"

Miroku said nothing, but reached inside his robes and pulled out the scroll, offering it to her. She accepted it apprehensively and began to read.

_Miroku,_

_If this letter finds its way into your hands, perhaps I can dare to hope that Fate is finally deciding to show mercy on my family. My name is Furugawa Takara, the wife of your uncle Hiroshi. I am writing to you now to tell you of a very dire situation, and it is my deepest hopes that you will find it in your heart to assist your family when we need you the most._

_Three months ago, my husband fell ill, and the physicians tell us it is doubtful that he will survive the winter. And just recently, our youngest son Kenji was struck with the same illness that will soon take his father's life._

_Kenji's brothers were both killed in battle last year, and if he dies as well there will only be one remaining heir to the Furugawa estate – my young daughter, Kumiko. There are plenty of warlords in the surrounding lands who would happily take Kumiko as a wife in order to win control of our clan. But Hiroshi has never trusted such men, and he has always been adamant that our clan be ruled only by a Furugawa._

_Should sweet Kenji die, there will be but one male heir remaining in the Furugawa family. I speak of you, Miroku, my nephew._

_Everyone has told me that I seek you in vain, that the son of a monk who is likely a monk himself will have no interest in our affairs. I do not know if Yasuo-dono is still alive. Perhaps even now I am merely writing to a ghost. All I have had to go by, to cling to, is the memory of the name that your father spoke when last we ever saw him. A name is all we have, but perhaps it will be enough._

_There is very little I can give in exchange for your aid. If your father is dead, as I suspect he is, then at the very least I can offer you a place to come home to._

Sango lowered the parchment, wondering what she could possibly say in response to this. At last she decided that the obvious question would work best. "What are you going to do?" she asked softly. "Are you going to go?"

"I don't see that I have a choice," he replied, his gaze lost amidst the flickering flames of the fire pit. "I don't know if there's anything I will be able to do, yet I can't help but feel obligated to at least try."

Sango blinked in surprise. _So he feels like it's his duty to help his family, even if he's never met them before._ "I see…"

An awkward silence reigned as husband and wife sat next to each other by the fire, both feeling miles apart.

.-.

Bare feet padded swiftly and harshly against the polished floors of the Furugawa castle as Kumiko marched towards her parents' bedchamber. Her smooth hair had fallen from its intricate design and now hung matted about her narrow shoulders. Whatever servants she encountered steered clear of her path; they knew their young mistress well enough to not want to be entangled with her when she was in a tantrum. Though her slight, delicate form wouldn't suggest it, she could manage quite a loud and irritating voice when she so desired.

None too gently, she slid open the door to the large bedchamber. But when she looked inside, her pursed lips gradually loosened as her flashing violet eyes became calm. She couldn't hope to remain in a huff with the sight of her recumbent father before her.

Kumiko took a long, steadying breath and softly blew it out as she bowed before her parents. "Haha-ue, I'd like to speak with you."

Takara gave her no response, but continued to dab her husband's forehead with a wet cloth, humming softly to him. Kumiko remained bowed, but her gaze stretched up to lock onto her mother.

After a tense, silent minute had passed, Takara stood slowly and murmured a farewell to her husband as she walked towards the doorway. Her daughter stepped aside to let her out, closing the door behind her.

"I do wish you would not storm into your father's room like that," said Takara, her smooth voice barely above a whisper. "You know how frail he is. He does not need to be startled."

"I'm sorry, Haha-ue," replied Kumiko through clenched teeth. No longer faced with the sight of her father's frail body, her initial anger was beginning to resurface.

"What was it you wished to discuss?"

Kumiko fought the urge to grind her teeth together as she stared hard at her mother. "Kuromatsu-sama has returned," she stated.

Takara did not meet her daughter's fiery gaze, but nodded evenly. "I see. And did he and his soldiers find what they were looking for?"

"They found a monk."

If Takara sensed Kumiko's irritation, she gave no indication. "That is well, as it was a monk they were looking for."

"This _cousin_ of mine…" Kumiko folded her arms across her chest. "He's a _monk_, Haha-ue."

"I expected he would be."

Whatever semblance of calm that Kumiko had managed to erect was shattered in an instant. "Then _why_ did you send for him?" she cried, stomping her foot in emphasis. "What makes you think that some houshi would be interested in our affairs, even if he is related to us? A monk wouldn't know how to manage our lands! A monk wouldn't know how to command our soldiers! You wasted all that time looking for a cousin who probably doesn't care to even meet us when you could've sent Kuromatsu-sama and the others out to look for a cure for Kenji!"

At the mention of her son, Takara's countenance became stern, and her eyes snapped open to glare hard at Kumiko. "You forget me, Kumiko. I am the lady of this clan, and I am your mother. I know what is best for our family."

Kumiko entire body was shaking now, and not entirely from anger. Her voice was much lower when she responded: "But what are you going to do about nii-san? You act like he's already dead."

Takara's gaze softened; a shadow of a smile came to her face as she looked upon her daughter and saw another girl in another time. "Your eyes, your face, your spirit… you are so much like her, Kumiko." With that, she turned back towards the door. As she opened it and stepped inside, Kumiko could barely discern her faint whisper, carried in on a breeze from the past: "Chiyo-chan…"

.-.

Sango sorted through the food supplies that she and Miroku had, trying to decide how much they would need for the journey to the Furugawa castle. She estimated it would take a little less than a week to get there, riding half of the way on Kirara and walking the rest of the way to give the neko youkai some rest.

"Ane-ue?"

She glanced up to find Kohaku standing in the doorway, looking somewhat uncomfortable.

"What's wrong?" she asked immediately. "Are you all right?" She made to rise, but Kohaku hastily waved at her to stay where she was.

"I'm fine, really, I just wanted to talk to you about something."

She waited while he sat down beside her. "Um… ane-ue, I don't want to go to the castle. I'd like to stay here."

Sango blinked in surprise, but covered it with what she hoped was a bright smile. "Oh, that's all right. We don't have to go if you're not up to it. You and I can just-"

But Kohaku shook his head, his brows furrowed in concern as he looked away from his sister. "That's not what I meant. _I_ want to stay here. But I think you should go. I think… Miroku-sama needs you right now."

Frowning, she replied slowly, "Oh… are you sure? What if…" _What if you have a nightmare and I'm not there to hold you?_

"I'll be fine. Kaede-sama said I could stay with her."

She smiled again for him. "All right, if that's what you want." She kept the smile until he had walked out.

.-.

"Are you sure about this?"

Kohaku jumped at the sound of the soft voice behind him. He turned and saw Miroku leaning against the side of the hut, his folded arms holding his shakujou against his shoulder.

Pushing himself away from the hut, Miroku started walking towards the forest surrounding the village. "Will you walk with me?" he asked, glancing back.

The boy hurried after him, falling into step beside him. When Miroku didn't speak, Kohaku decided to respond to his earlier query. "I… I guess I just want to stay put for a while. I like it here. I'm finally starting to get used to… to living here, and I don't really want to go anywhere else right now."

"Is that all?" Miroku inquired with a small smile.

Kohaku's eyes widened for a moment; he kept his gaze fixated on the ground when he replied: "Well… I feel kind of guilty. You and ane-ue hardly spend any time alone together, and I feel like it's my fault."

He was surprised when he felt Miroku's hand on his shoulder, gently turning him to face the older man. "Kohaku, I don't want you to feel guilty about something you can't control." His voice was soft, but there was a solemnity to it that made Kohaku wonder if his words referred only to the current matter. But that serene smile of his soon returned to his face. "There are things that Sango and I will have to work out together. You shouldn't worry about it too much yourself."

Miroku removed his hand and continued walking. Kohaku stared after him thoughtfully before catching up. "Miroku-sama? I'm curious… what kind of things do you and ane-ue need to work out?"

Miroku rubbed his chin musingly. "Oh, just various things that come with marriage, I suppose. For one thing, I can tell that Sango is having trouble dealing with the lack of control she now has."

Kohaku frowned. "Control?"

Waving his hand, Miroku responded, "Don't get me wrong, I would never presume to want to control Sango. I value my life too much to do something that foolish. You have to understand – being in love isn't something that allows for much control over your feelings. This loss of control can be overwhelming for some people, especially if they've never experienced that kind of love before."

Brows knitting together, Kohaku said, "I guess this is where you tell me that I'll understand someday?"

"I figured it went without saying," Miroku replied, grinning. He paused then, glancing around at where their aimless path had led them. "Let's go back. Perhaps Sango will have dinner ready for us."

As they made their way back to the village, Miroku gave the young boy a sidelong glance. "So then, you're sure that you want to stay here? We could be gone for several weeks."

"I'll be fine. Kaede-sama said she had plenty of work to keep me busy, and Shippou said he would keep me company."

"I'm glad," said Miroku softly. "Anyway, when Inuyasha and Kagome-sama get back, I would like for you to tell them where we've gone." Closing his eyes and raising his chin, he spoke in a wry tone, "Inuyasha does so worry about us when we're not in his sight."

Kohaku gave a small laugh, and together he and his brother-in-law made their way back to the hut where Sango was waiting.

.-.-.-.

.-.-.

**Translation Stuff **(if I'm wrong with any of this, please correct me)

_Sukebe houshi:_ perverted monk  
_Haha-ue: _respectful, archaic way of addressing one's mother  
_Nii-san: _way of addressing a brother  
_Neko:_ cat  
_Shakujou:_ a monk's staff

Many thanks go out to gypsymuse and Lady-Sango77 for their kind words. I'm very glad you folks are enjoying this!

Feedback (including constructive criticism) is appreciated. Thanks for reading!


	4. Suffer the Child

Ack, I didn't realize it had been so long since I'd updated… sorry, everyone! Essays and statistics problems have been taking up most of my time lately, but I'll be able to update more frequently next month after my AP exams are over.

Anyway, thank you so much for your comments and suggestions! You've all been very encouraging. I'm pressed for time right now, so I'm afraid I can't respond to everyone individually, but I really do appreciate all the wonderful feedback I've received so far.

.-.-.-.

Chapter 3 – Suffer the Child

.-.

_The grounds of the Furugawa castle were not large, but they were lush and well tended, and it was in the gardens of these grounds where Yasuo could most often be found in the weeks he spent recovering from Naraku's attack. Chiyo frequently accompanied him, showing him the most peaceful and secluded areas._

_Yasuo enjoyed the young girl's company. She certainly was not particularly wise or mature for one her age; sometimes, she was quite the opposite. But he found her vivacity and good humor to be a welcome change from the quiet temple life he had grown accustomed to. Being around the lively eleven-year-old almost made him forget his heavy burden. At least, until Chiyo herself would draw his attention back to it._

_Ever since seeing his reaction to her touching his glove and rosary, Chiyo had developed a great interest in it. She had made a game out of trying to guess what the purpose of that mysterious gauntlet was._

"_Is it to hide the fact that the skin underneath it is green?"_

"_No."_

_They currently sat in a small meadow sprinkled with wildflowers. The meadow was shielded from civilization by a line of tall maples that stood between it and the castle. Opposite the trees there ran a large stream, its crystal waters sparkling in the late afternoon sunlight. Autumn was still young, and the maple leaves were starting to be peppered with promises of the radiant sunset colors that would soon spread throughout the forests._

_Chiyo lay sprawled on the ground, her outline disrupting the gentle sway of the tall grass in the breeze. Yasuo sat several paces away, his back against a tree, twirling in his fingers a yellow leaf that had fallen long before most of its brothers would._

"_You have an ugly scar underneath it?"_

"_Not exactly." Yasuo did consider it an ugly scar, but he did not like to think of it as being his own. Even after so many years of carrying it, he still could only think of it as belonging to his father._

"_You have a really pretty scar underneath it?"_

_He snorted in response._

"_Come _on_," she moaned, lifting one bare foot and wriggling her toes to watch the sunlight filter between them. "I've guessed _everything_. Just tell me what it's for!"_

"_Nonsense. If you had truly guessed everything, you would have hit it by now, wouldn't you?"_

_Dropping her foot, she mumbled dryly, "I'd be a smart aleck too, if I spent my whole life locked up in a temple, reading." She lifted her other foot. "Is it a fashion statement?"_

"_Don't you think that would be rather tacky?"_

"_Don't ask me, you're the one wearing it. Anyway, I'm pretty sure it's meant to cover something. I just have to figure out what that something is. Is it… yellow?"_

"_No."_

"_Is it white?"_

"_No."_

"_Is it black?"_

_She was met with silence. Craning her neck to look back at him, she spoke triumphantly, "Am I right? I'm right, aren't I?" But her feeling of accomplishment fell away at the sight of him, gazing at something far away, pondering something she wasn't sure she wanted to understand._

"_Black," he muttered distantly, "black as a starless night." Seeing her baffled look out of the corner of his eye, he continued in a clearer voice, "That's how my father described it to me, not long before he died."_

_Chiyo sat up, oblivious to the twigs and flowers entwined in her tousled hair. Even at her naïve age, even in her carefree mind, she seemed to realize the gravity of what he was about to tell her._

_Somehow, the sight of her young face drawn in such solemnity made him feel bitter and amazed all at once._

.-.

They were making good time – riding on Kirara for most of the journey, Miroku and Sango were already halfway to their destination after only two days of travel. Now the sun was setting, and they walked at a leisurely pace down an old forest road, the neko youkai dozing on her mistress' shoulder. Sango periodically glanced at her husband out of the corner of her eye while Miroku pretended not to notice. He knew that whenever he did meet her gaze in such moments, she was likely to turn red and quickly look away, and right now he did not want to make her uncomfortable. He was content to walk in silence on this lonely, peaceful path with her at his side.

Sango, apparently, had other ideas. "The leaves will all be gone soon," she commented softly, looking up at the thinning forest canopy. The remaining leaves cast a hue that reflected the glow of the western skies. Winter was wasting no time this year, and though they were no great distance away from Kaede's village, the air was noticeably colder here.

Miroku merely nodded in response to her statement, and silence fell over them once again. He barely heard her give a faint sigh of what might have been frustration mixed with a little bit of sadness. Smiling, he let out a sigh of his own and reached out to take her hand.

She stiffened for a moment, then relaxed her hand and allowed him to twine their fingers together. He stole a glance at her just in time to see a small smile lighting her face.

.-.

They made camp in a small clearing several paces away from the road. Kirara had changed to her larger form for the night; she knew as well as Miroku and Sango did that most youkai would not be deterred by the sight of her, but also that they could stave off any minor annoyances, for there were few human bandits willing to approach potential victims who were being guarded by a large, saber-toothed cat.

Kirara had finished her supper of fish and was stretched out by the campfire, sleeping, Miroku sitting opposite her. Sango had decided to wash up a bit in the river nearby and was currently hidden behind a wall of trees.

And so Miroku sat with his back to the river, carrying on an internal debate with himself.

On the one hand, he _was_ her husband. That fact should grant him certain privileges that he had thus far made little effort to pursue, and part of him was moving past being antsy and into frustrated. On the other hand, he had worked too hard for too long to earn Sango's trust, and he was not about to force an issue that she was unprepared to confront.

_Still… I'm sure an "accidental" glimpse would not be so deplorable, would it?_

The debate was brought to a halt when Sango emerged from the trees fully clothed, and Miroku gave an inward sigh. She sat down within arm's reach of him, the firelight dancing upon her pretty face, flickering in her brown eyes, enhancing the glow that Miroku had always seen around her. He smiled to himself.

_This is just as satisfying._

Sango caught his gaze, and her eyebrows lifted perplexedly. "What?"

His smile widened. "Do you mind me looking?" he asked playfully.

Sighing, she replied, "It's not like I could ever stop you before." But she did not sound upset, so Miroku made no attempt to divert his gaze.

After a few minutes of fidgeting, Sango finally scooted towards him ever so slightly. Miroku, recognizing the offer, closed the distance between them and pulled her into a strong embrace, burying his face in her neck.

It had become a routine for nights when they were alone: He would wrap his arms around her, nuzzling her first, then kissing her gently. When she seemed more comfortable, he would deepen the kisses and allow his hands to wander. These moments ended when Sango became too eager for her own liking. There was always a hint of regret when Miroku tasted her skin these nights, knowing that he was allowed precious little time to do so. Yet he also found sweetness there as she gradually let his lips dwell longer, his hands travel farther.

Now he heard her gasp against his mouth as his fingers slid over her hips. He stilled briefly, waiting to see if she would pull away. He was surprised when she slowly pressed herself closer to him, timidly bringing a hand up to bury in his hair.

Their tentative exploration of each other continued until at last Miroku began to run his hand along the collar of her kimono. So lost was he, so enveloped in her that he made the mistake of letting instinct take over. He pushed the fabric away to reach the soft skin beneath, and she broke away with a gasp.

"Wait," she whispered breathlessly. Miroku mentally kicked himself.

He rested his head on her shoulder, taking several deep breaths in attempt to regain his composure – he could hear and feel Sango doing the same. She nervously took his hand in hers.

"I'm sorry." Had they not been so close, Miroku doubted he would've heard her. "I know I… I know it shouldn't be like this, I just-"

"I understand," he said softly, squeezing her hand. "It's all right to be afraid."

"I'm not!" she protested.

Miroku lifted his head and stared hard into her eyes, leaning close so that their noses touched. His voice was low and steady when he replied, "You are afraid. I know you aren't used to that – you aren't afraid of battle, you aren't afraid of your enemies, you aren't even afraid of death." He brought his hand up to lightly press against her heart. "But _this_ – this scares you. Being in love, losing control – that scares you."

Sango gazed at him for a moment with wide, vulnerable eyes before a slight scowl overtook her. Miroku could tell that she was desperately searching for a flaw in his statement. But she soon gave up, blowing out a tired breath. She lowered her head and mumbled, "I hate how you can read me like that when I can't do the same to you."

Miroku grinned, pulling her into a loose hug. "I'm sure you could if you tried."

She relaxed against him and responded dryly, "Maybe, but I don't think I'm ready to go delving into your head."

It took him a minute to realize that she held his hand again and was gently stroking the smooth skin where his Kazaana had once been. He wondered if he would ever get used to feeling something brush against his right palm. The experience was exhilarating and sobering all at once.

The souls of his father and grandfather were at peace, and Miroku was comforted by the thought. Yet he could not help but feel a sense of regret over their fates, especially that of his father. Though he'd had no inkling of it at the time, he knew now that his father must have been extremely bitter about the curse. He knew now, because he'd come to sometimes feel the same thing.

Unlike his son, Yasuo had made no effort to mask his feelings about being cursed with a cheerful, laid-back façade. Growing up, it had always made Miroku sad to watch his father sink further into his perpetual melancholy. Yasuo had by no means given up the fight with Naraku; but in his later years, he spent more time studying, learning all he could about youkai and ways to fight them, and rarely would he go out and actively hunt his enemy. He did not share his knowledge of youkai with his son, at least not directly – he passed it on to Mushin, who later used it to educate Miroku. It had been Yasuo's wish that, while he was still alive, his child only be told what he absolutely needed to know, not so that he was unprepared, but so that he might have some hopes of a normal childhood. Yasuo had known that Miroku would have to grow up very quickly, and so he wanted the boy to enjoy his innocence for as long as possible.

Despite that, Miroku had not come close to having a normal childhood. Normal sons believed their fathers to be invincible, and Miroku had understood all too well his father's mortality.

He squeezed Sango's hand suddenly, pressing his face into her hair, breathing in her earthy scent. _It would not do for me to linger on the past and neglect what I have now._

But he could not ignore the irony of that statement, as he was journeying into the depths of a past that was not even his own.

.-.

Miroku and Sango came to the Furugawa estate after two more days of travel. They passed without incident through the first of two walls encompassing the area – it seemed that the soldiers guarding the gate had been told to keep a lookout for a young monk, and at his approached they opened the gate without a word. From there, the couple came to a small, quiet village at the base of the low hill upon which the castle sat. Most of the villagers took notice of Miroku, staring long and hard at him, but he and Sango could hear few words spoken as they passed. The silence they encountered on their path to the castle was eerie – the village had a tense, solemn air to it.

_The air of a people who are uncertain about the future, I suppose_,Sango thought to herself.

Climbing the stone staircase that led up to the second wall, the one encircling the castle complex, Sango was able to survey the surrounding area better. The grounds looked like they could have been very beautiful, but with the lack of upkeep it was difficult to tell. She suspected that the residents were all too preoccupied with their lord's impending death to think much about a few gardens.

They waited longer at the second gate, watching the soldiers atop the wall converse briefly before one shouted down, "Are you the son of Yasuo?"

"I am," replied Miroku, inclining his head.

Again, the soldiers talked among themselves for a moment, and then another one turned to speak to someone on the other side of the wall. About a minute later he turned back and yelled at the men guarding the great doors – "Open the gate!"

The castle itself looked quite old, average-sized but with proud elegance in its structure. Dried-up leaves from a large oak that stood beside the castle danced across the yard in little whirlwinds, scraping lightly against the stone pathway that led up to the entrance. Sango followed the path of one leaf as it drifted lazily towards the front steps, where a woman stood watching them.

Sango's eyes widened at the sight of this noble woman who now stared at Miroku with a melancholy smile. Whispers of grey, the same shade as her eyes, dotted the woman's neatly combed hair. Her elaborate robes had a pattern of somber blues, intensifying the aura of sadness that seemed to hang over her.

When the couple reached the front steps and bowed, the woman returned the gesture. Her smile widened slightly, and she spoke to Miroku in a low, smooth voice. "Welcome, my nephew. I am very glad you've come." The woman – who Sango assumed to be Furugawa Takara, the aunt who had written to Miroku – tilted her head as if appraising the young houshi. "I must admit, your appearance surprises me. I had expected you to look more like Yasuo-dono…" Takara's voice became wispy and dream-like. "I did not think you would look so much like your mother."

.-.

Watching this exchange from the shadows of the hallway behind the front entrance, Kumiko scowled at her mother's statement.

_Always that stupid fixation with 'Chiyo-chan'… first she tells me that I look like that girl, now she's telling_ him _the same thing!_

"She's lying to one of us," muttered Kumiko sourly._ We can't both look like Chiyo. There's no way I have anything in common with that houshi._

"He has arrived, then?"

Kumiko gave a start, whirling around to find her handmaid, Noriko, approaching her. The middle-aged woman had a rather disturbing talent for appearing out of the shadows without making a sound.

Kumiko sighed heavily, blowing a wayward strand of hair away from her face. "You really need to stop sneaking up on people like that." Turning back to the entrance, she once again peered out from behind the door. "And yes, he's arrived."

Noriko stepped up to her, but did not try to see what was going on outside. Instead, she asked, "And what is your first impression, Kumiko-sama?"

She made a noise of disdain that her mother would have deemed unladylike. "I can't say I'm impressed. Of course, I didn't expect to be." She frowned, staring hard at the girl who stood next to the monk. "Who's that woman he brought with him? Is that his wife or his servant?"

Noriko gave a soft, faintly sardonic smile. "A houshi is not known for his exceeding wealth or stature, so it is doubtful that he would have a servant."

Kumiko's frown deepened, until at last she gave a derisive snort and whispered harshly, "She's quite plain, isn't she? Though she's only a houshi's wife, so what can you expect?" But she continued to gaze at the woman, her brows furrowed.

"I did not know My Lady had such a disliking for men of the cloth."

Kumiko wrinkled her nose, returning her gaze to the smiling young monk. "Only when they decide to interfere with affairs that don't concern them."_ Only when they come here looking to replace my brothers._

.-.

_So he looks like his mother? _Raising her eyebrows, Sango glanced at Miroku to see what his reaction to this statement would be; but his face remained passive as he continued to meet Takara's thoughtful gaze.

The silence stretched on, and just as Sango's restlessness was threatening to overtake her, Takara blinked and straightened slowly. "But where are my manners? I am neglecting your companion." She turned her soft smile to the younger woman and waited expectantly.

"Ah, forgive me," said Miroku as he took Sango's hand. "This is Sango, my wife and a very skilled youkai taijiya." Sango bowed again, trying to recall the advice her father had once given her on dealing with nobles. When she'd straightened, she caught sight of something out of the corner of her eye – looking past Takara, she saw a young girl standing at the edge of the doorway.

Takara cocked an eyebrow at this, then turned around to follow Sango's gaze. "Ah yes – Kumiko, I do hope you aren't trying to hide from our guests." Returning her gaze to Miroku, she continued, "I apologize. My daughter is not fond of meeting new people." Once again, Takara looked back at the girl, smiling encouragingly. "Won't you come out, Kumiko?"

.-.

_Great. Ratted out._

Kumiko distinctly heard her handmaid chuckling softly at her expense. She glowered at her mother.

"Well, Kumiko-sama?" prompted Noriko. "I'm afraid you can't stand here forever."

Kumiko wanted nothing more than to march off in the opposite direction – that, or to walk right up to the houshi and tell him exactly what was on her mind. Both would make her look extremely crass, and she had long been taught that she must present an air of dignity to all others outside the family. Now she was torn between being tactful and admitting that this houshi was a part of her family.

So she walked outside, head bowed and mouth closed tight.

.-.-.-.

.-.-.

**A/N:** I debated with myself over the issue of how far Miroku and Sango have progressed in their relationship, so I hope their interactions in this chapter came off all right (many thanks to Aino, KellyChan, and Katrina5 for their input on the matter).

And **Lady-Sango77** brought up something that I should probably address – I know some people might find it strange that Sango is still calling him "Houshi-sama" even after they're married, and I'm thinking of having it discussed in a later chapter; personally, I feel it could go either way. On the one hand, calling him that seems like more of a habit with Sango than anything else, and the affection is still there no matter what name she uses. On the other hand, it could be connected with acceptance issues in their relationship… ah, who knows? She might be calling him "Miroku" by the end of the story, but I haven't decided yet. We'll see.

Whoops, I've rambled. Anyway, thanks for reading! Feedback would be grand.


	5. Family

Sorry for the long wait, everyone (you'll hear that a lot from me, by the way)! I had a tough time with this chapter for some reason, so if any of it seems forced at all, that'd be why. More of my babble at the end of the chapter.

.-.-.-.

Chapter 4 – Family

.-.

"_Nii-san," a singsong voice trilled as a pair of skinny arms draped themselves over Hiroshi's shoulders._

_The boy gave a tired smile. "What is it, Chiyo?"_

"_Nothing," the twelve-year-old replied, resting her chin on top of her brother's head. "I just wanted to see what you were doing." She peered over at the crumpled papers that were scattered about Hiroshi's folded legs. "What's this? Are you drawing again?"_

"_Er, yes…" Hiroshi's face grew pink. "Takara-san said that she enjoyed my drawings, so I thought she might like it if I drew something especially for her."_

"_How thoughtful of you, nii-san!" said Chiyo with a grin, ruffling his hair as one would do to a small child. "Just make sure Chichi-ue doesn't catch you. He wouldn't think it manly enough for a Furugawa son." Glowering slightly, Hiroshi attempted to pat down his now-tousled hair. "But it really is nice of you to try to please Takara-chan like that, even though you don't actually have to_ woo _her, since the marriage was already-"_

_Hiroshi's blush darkened considerably, and he spoke through clenched teeth, "Could we not talk about this, please?" His arranged marriage to his younger sister's best friend was definitely not his favorite topic of conversation._

"_Fine, fine." It only took her a second to think of something else to discuss. She hugged Hiroshi's neck suddenly, her violet eyes wide with excitement. "Hey, hey, you know who's going to be arriving here any day now, right?"_

_Hiroshi attempted to concentrate on his latest drawing effort. "No, but I suppose you're going to tell me."_

"_You remember Yasuo, don't you?"_

"_Oh, Houshi-dono? He's coming here?"_

"_Yep! He wrote to Chichi-ue a few weeks ago, saying that he would be passing through here soon and that he would appreciate it if we could provide a place for him to sleep for a while."_

_Hiroshi gave her a sidelong glance. "You must have gotten quite attached to him while he was here."_

_Chiyo grinned mischievously. "He was fun to pick on. He's always so serious, except maybe when a pretty girl walks by."_

.-.

_Yasuo arrived later that afternoon. He'd not grown any taller, Chiyo noted smugly, declaring that they would soon be the same height. In the fading light of day they walked lazily throughout the castle grounds while the young monk told Chiyo what he'd been doing the past few months – which was mainly looking for ways to defeat Naraku._

"_So have you been by yourself this whole time?" she asked, skipping several paces ahead of him._

"_Oh, no," he replied with a bright smile. "I was with Mushin-sama most of the time."_

"_Mushin-sama?"_

"_He was a good friend to my father; they trained in the same temple. He took care of me after my father died, and he also helps me whenever the Kazaana gives me trouble." Yasuo laughed, a rare and merry sound. "He's probably a good model of what a monk _shouldn't_ be – a drunkard and a womanizer. But he's a good man, the best father anyone could hope for."_

_Chiyo turned to face him, walking backwards and grinning. "Better than your real father?"_

_His smile slowly faded and was replaced with a pensive look; he stopped walking and spoke softly, "I guess I can't say for sure. I hardly knew my father, not really." He stared down at the grass, his eyebrows knitting together. "Chichi-ue spent all of his time hunting Naraku. It was all he would ever talk about. The more Naraku got the better of him, the more determined he became. The more determined he became, the less I saw of him."_

_Clasping her hands behind her back, Chiyo leaned forward and asked, "But what kind of _father _was he?"_

_Yasuo glanced up at her, raising an eyebrow. "He wasn't." When she frowned uncomprehendingly, he continued, "I knew him as a monk who hunted youkai, and one youkai in particular. He taught me everything he knew for the day when I would have to face Naraku. He never taught me… how to write, how to use chopsticks, any of the things that a parent is supposed to teach their child. That's why… I suppose I never really understood the concept of 'family.'"_

_Chiyo straightened, rocking her feet back and forth. Finally she spoke: "Well, all that means is that you had_ two _fathers, right? Your real father, and Mushin-sama. It's a strange family, but it's still a family."_

_He stared at her thoughtfully, then gave a small smile. "Yeah, I guess you're right."_

.-.

They were given an hour to themselves, to wash up and rest before a servant came to lead them to the dining hall. Dinner was a quiet affair, with Miroku, Sango, Takara, and Kumiko eating at a table that could have easily seated ten people. The large hall was sparsely decorated, with a lone tapestry adorning one wall and a few candles around the table providing the only light in the room. When the last servant exited, an uneasy silence settled over the group until Takara, smiling slightly, let out a genial sigh.

"I know it must seem quite dreary here. It would have been far livelier two years ago." She turned to look at her daughter. "Wouldn't you agree, Kumiko?" But the girl made no response and continued to stare firmly at her rice, her long bangs obscuring her eyes from view. Takara sighed again and returned her gaze to Miroku. "But I hope you will make yourselves at home for however long you decide to stay."

Miroku inclined his head respectfully. "I thank you for your hospitality."

Her smile widened. "Not at all. I must at least try to make up for all the years that our family has neglected you."

He returned her good-natured smile. "I hardly think it's something you should blame yourself for. After all, I never even considered looking for you."

Sango watched the two converse in quiet admiration. She had always been amazed at how easily words seemed to flow from Miroku's lips; she could probably count on one hand the number of times she had heard him stutter. Even now, in the midst of what could easily be a very awkward situation, he was calm and composed, his words smooth as a breeze.

_No wonder he makes such a great con man._

Sango was pulled from these thoughts by Takara's next statement. "And here you've brought quite a surprise – I had not expected to be meeting _two_ new family members." She spoke to the younger woman, "Tell me, how long have you and Miroku been married?"

"Oh, uh, almost a month now." _Family members… that's right. If this is Houshi-sama's family, of course they would be mine as well now._ Meeting and gaining the approval of in-laws was not an issue that Sango had ever thought she would have to deal with, even on their journey to the Furugawa castle. After staying with Kagome and the others for so long, "family" had taken on a new meaning for her. She had seen half-brothers draw swords against each other; she had seen a woman defy and be killed by the very thing that had borne her; she had watched her brother, the person whose blood ran closest to hers, become a murderer. Sango knew now that "family" was not always synonymous with flesh and blood.

Gazing thoughtfully at Miroku, she wondered how he felt on the matter. He would not be here now if he did not feel some urge to aid these people. That was simply part of his nature – he would not turn away from a call for help. But whether or not he was also here out of a genuine desire to assist his family, Sango could not guess.

As aunt and nephew returned to exchanging idle pleasantries, Sango turned her gaze on the young girl seated before her. Kumiko had not spoken a single word throughout the meal and had kept her eyes fixated on the table. But as Sango continued to observe her, she saw the girl glance up very slowly until her eyes settled on the little cat sitting quietly beside Sango. Kirara, seeming to sense the gaze upon her, perked her ears and looked up at the girl, who then immediately returned her eyes to the table.

Apparently, Sango had not been the only one observing this; Takara smiled at her daughter before speaking to Sango again. "That is a rather interesting companion," she remarked, gesturing to Kirara. "Those red eyes… a youkai, isn't it?" At Sango's nod, Takara cocked her head thoughtfully. "Rather strange company for a taijiya to keep, wouldn't you say?"

Sango scratched Kirara lightly behind the ears. "Maybe. But I know Kirara would never harm a human, and there are many other youkai who are the same. She's not the only youkai we've traveled with." This last statement was already out of her mouth before she considered the fact that it might not have been the best thing to say.

Sure enough, Takara's eyebrows lifted in mild bemusement. She looked to Miroku for confirmation; for his part, the monk looked unperturbed. "Well, yes, aside from Kirara we also traveled with a young kitsune orphan. There's also Inuyasha, though I can't really call him a youkai, as he's also half human."

Even Kumiko looked up in surprise at this. Takara seemed to carefully measure her tone when she spoke next. "So then, one of your companions is a hanyou. Are there no other _humans_ in your travel party?"

"Yes, a young miko." It seemed Miroku did not think it necessary to mention that this young miko also happened to be from the future.

"My," said Takara, her brows still raised even as she smiled faintly in amusement, "your journey must have been an interesting one."

Miroku laughed congenially. "Ah, very much so." He set down his bowl of rice and continued, "Actually, I'm glad that this was brought up. You see, I left word for two of our companions – the miko and the hanyou – telling them where Sango and I had gone. So there is a chance that they will be arriving here soon. Should they come here, I hope it would not be too much of an inconvenience for you to give them lodging."

He looked and sounded humble enough as he spoke, but Sango had known him long enough to hear the true meaning behind this diplomatic statement: _If you can't accept my friends, then I'm afraid you can't accept me._

Takara apparently could also discern what had not been said. She stared at him appraisingly for a moment before giving a slow nod. "Of course. Any friends of yours are welcome here."

"Haha-ue!" Kumiko hissed softly. Miroku and Sango both turned to her in surprise; Takara simply cocked an eyebrow and waited patiently for her to continue. The girl glared at her mother for several seconds, nostrils flared and lips pursed, but when it became apparent that Takara was not going to speak first, Kumiko blew out a long breath and looked away.

Takara echoed her daughter's sigh. "You may leave if you've finished eating, Kumiko."

The girl did not need to be told twice – she stood quickly and exited the room in a matter of seconds.

"I hope you'll forgive my daughter," said Takara softly. "Ever since she found out about you, she's been against you coming here." Her lips twisted upwards, a gesture so filled with mourning that Sango was unsure if it could even be called a smile. "She thinks I am being too hasty in making arrangements for the possibility that her brother will die. I don't think she recognizes that this is also for her own well being."

She stared down at her hands, folded in her lap. "All nobles understand the role that a daughter can play in forming and strengthening alliances. But my husband and I do not wish to see such a fate befall Kumiko." Solemnity clung to Takara's voice, and it seemed almost as though she was simply thinking aloud. "If her father dies, and if Kenji follows him, there will be nothing to stop one of the neighboring warlords from claiming Kumiko and the lands attached to her."

Takara blinked suddenly, as though remembering her audience. She lifted her head to look Miroku in the eye. "My husband does not trust the other lords. He knows that their only goals are power and conquest. He knows, because a mere generation ago, this clan was not so different. I myself was used as a pawn in the Furugawa quest for power, sent here by a lesser clan in a bid for appeasement. I was fortunate in that the man I was promised to had a good heart. I doubt my daughter will be so lucky."

Lowering his gaze, Miroku let out a sigh. "And so you hope that by presenting another male heir, you will dissuade any conquering warlords from turning their eyes to your lands." He returned his eyes to Takara. "I have been a houshi all my life. My skills involve exorcism and spreading the word of Buddha. Even if you were to put me at the head of this clan, I doubt I would make a sufficient leader."

Takara gave him a small smile. "Surely you are familiar with the term 'figurehead.'"

Miroku raised his eyebrows. "Ah, I see."

"She may not look it, but Kumiko has long been taught the ways of managing our lands. She knows how to deal with food distribution, village upkeep, things of that nature."

"What of your military?" asked Sango.

"Right," said Miroku, "I have always heard the Furugawa clan referred to as a highly militaristic one."

Takara's eyebrows furrowed sadly. "A reputation that we are trying to pull away from. We have enough soldiers to provide our territory with sufficient defense from attack, but we are no longer pursuing new conquests. Our people have grown weary of wars. Especially since Takeo and Yuki…"

Miroku nodded and spoke softly, "Your older sons."

She let out a long sigh. "A clan from the west had entered the outskirts of our territory and were attacking our villages there. When we sent out armies to fight them, Takeo and Yuki insisted on going as well. They did not have to fight – no one asked them to, and Hiroshi and I did not want them to. But they refused to sit by while our people were dying – their sense of honor was far too strong for that. They were like their father in that regard… and like your mother as well, Miroku." She closed her eyes and smiled. "Honor has always been important to the members of this family; but for Chiyo, it manifested itself in a way we would have never predicted."

"What way was that?"

Takara turned her smile towards him. "You, of course." When Miroku gave a small start, she continued, "Naturally, when Chiyo learned that someone dear to her was bound by a curse that had left his father's spirit trapped in an abyss, she could not stand to sit by idly."

Sango was desperately curious to know what her husband was thinking then; but he had schooled his features, as he so often did, and she could not begin to guess what was going through his mind. His only reaction was a comprehending nod.

Takara observed him for a moment, no doubt attempting the same as Sango. She then scooted away from the table and stood, bowing to the pair. "I must now attend to my husband, and I'm sure you are both weary from your journey and would like to retire for the night. As I said before, you are welcome to stay here for however long you desire. We will speak more tomorrow, yes?"

Miroku smiled and bowed. "Of course."

.-.

The room that they had been given was on the north end of the main house, with a shouji that led outside to a covered walkway overlooking a small, simple garden comprised of some shrubs, rocks, and flowers. Sango had opened the shouji slightly and stood on the threshold, Kirara at her feet.

"Are you sure?" said Sango to the youkai. "You know how cold it is out there." But Kirara stepped outside, brushing against Sango's legs as though in assurance as she walked past.

"Well, don't stay out too long, all right?"

Kirara mewled in affirmation before disappearing into the shadows.

Sango slid the shouji closed and turned to regard her husband, seated on the futon in front of the fire pit, his back to her. He was so still and quiet that at first she thought he was meditating; but when she walked around to look at his face, she saw his eyes were open and staring into the fire. She sat down beside him.

"So, um, what are you thinking?" she asked.

Miroku sat back, resting his hands behind him and leaning on them. A wry, tired smile came to his face. "I think I'm exhausted."

She laughed softly. "I can't say I blame you." She regarded him thoughtfully, trying to come up with something she could do to ease his no doubt troubled mind; she noticed that, although his pose was relaxed, his face was wrought with tension.

Chewing her lip nervously, Sango moved to sit behind him and slowly brought her hands to his shoulders, where she began to knead the tightly wound muscles there. Miroku sat in silence for a moment before saying in a pleasantly surprised voice, "Thank you."

Sango continued to massage his shoulders, arms, and back, enjoying her ability to bring some bit of comfort to him; and though the thought made her blush, she also enjoyed being able to so thoroughly feel her way throughout his firm, wiry frame.

At one point, Miroku dropped his head onto her shoulder and sighed. "You're quite skilled at this, Sango."

Proudly noting his relaxed tone, she responded, "I picked up a few things from the doctor in my village – he often treated warriors with stiff joints and muscles this way."

Miroku reached back and took hold of her hand that was rubbing his triceps, bringing her palm to his lips. He then turned so that he was facing her and lightly kissed the corner of her mouth. "I feel much better now," he said softly, running his thumb along her jawbone. "Thank you, Sango."

There was so much she could have said, so much she wanted to tell him: how he had done far more for her than she could ever do for him; how she couldn't imagine being with anyone else; how lost she would be had fate not led her to him; how much she—

Pulling her into a strong embrace, Miroku brushed his lips tenderly against her brow and murmured, "There's nothing you need to say aloud that I haven't already known for a long time."

_How does he _do _that?_

Sango wrapped her arms around his neck with a sigh, burying her face in his chest, losing herself in the tranquility of the moment and the comfort of his embrace – at least, until a thought struck her. Her voice muffled against his chest, she muttered, "I'm surprised you haven't groped me yet."

"I was hoping you'd be impressed with my restraint."

.-.

Shadows hung heavily in the room where Takara sat beside her husband's sweat-drenched futon. The light of one lonely candle flickered feebly in its fruitless war against the darkness of the sickroom where Furugawa Hiroshi now made his permanent residence. Takara's aides had insisted that she not stay in that room for long stretches of time, but still she waited there every night, without fail, until her husband fell asleep.

"Takara…" She could barely discern her own name amidst the heavy groan.

"Rest now," she murmured, dabbing at his forehead with a wet cloth.

"Tell me," said Hiroshi, "what is he like?"

"Not so carefree as his mother," she replied lightly, "yet not so solemn as his father."

"What—" He took a deep, rattling breath. "What did you tell him?"

"I told him why he was summoned here."

"Nothing… about Chiyo?"

Takara took his hand, massaging it gently. "Little things, here and there. I assume that if he wants to know more about her, he will ask when he is ready."

Silence reigned as she stroked his hand, his gnarled, spindly fingers that had once been smooth and graceful – the hands of an artist. Those hands had shyly crafted many things of tender beauty and affection for her and others long ago.

"I'm sorry, Takara." His weak voice was choked with blood and regret. "I'm sorry… I brought you into this… family, this… accursed—"

Takara shushed him softly. "Do not blame yourself for things you had no control over."

She continued stroking his hand.

Those hands had not had the will to create anything in a long time.

.-.

Miroku entered the room for breakfast the next morning to find Takara eating by herself. The older woman looked up and smiled at him.

"Will Sango-san not be joining us this morning?" she asked.

"Soon," he replied as he took a seat across from Takara. "She's exercising a bit right now."

In the silence that followed, he noticed Takara staring thoughtfully at his right hand. She remarked mildly, "That hand is quite pale."

"Ah, yes…" Miroku smiled wryly at his palm.

"I see. Then you were the one to break your family's curse, not your father."

"You knew of the curse?"

"I knew what Chiyo told me. A youkai named… Naraku, yes?"

Miroku nodded. "That is why I traveled with such an eclectic group of companions – we each had a reason to fight Naraku, so naturally we joined forces. I doubt it would have been possible for any of us to defeat him on our own."

Takara frowned pensively. "I wonder why your father and grandfather never took such a course of action."

"Well, my father was never known for being sociable, and from what I've been told, his father was the same way."

Smiling slightly, Takara replied, "I don't doubt it. I never saw Yasuo-dono speaking openly to anyone besides Chiyo."

Regarding her over his bowl of rice, Miroku inquired, "Did you see my father often?"

"From time to time, yes. He had been coming here every few months since I was twelve years old. He was here for my wedding to Hiroshi and even performed a ritual blessing our union." Her smile widened, and a faint chuckle escaped her. "Though my first memory of him is not one I would associate with the, ah, _holier_ side of him."

Miroku had a sneaking suspicion as to what that memory involved. "Oh?"

"Let's just say he did not seem to have much willpower around pretty serving girls."

Miroku laughed nervously. "Somehow, that doesn't surprise me."_ Let it never be said that the Kazaana was the only curse I inherited from him._

The meal continued in silence until Miroku set down his chopsticks and said, "Takara-sama, I was wondering if you might tell me a bit about this illness that has stricken your family."

Takara seemed somewhat taken aback by this new topic, but she too set down her utensils and responded, "None of the physicians we have summoned can tell us what it is or how it was contracted. All we know is that it weakens the lungs and eats away at the muscles. When it has spread far enough, it starts attacking the heart." She closed her eyes, lowering her head wearily. "Considering the damage Hiroshi's body has taken, it is likely the coming winter will be too much for him to handle."

Miroku frowned thoughtfully; he did not want to make her discuss the issue further, but something was nagging at the back of his mind. "Forgive me for asking – I know this must be difficult to talk about – but you must have spent a great deal of time with your husband even after he fell ill. Yet it was your son who contracted it next, not you. Were the doctors able to explain this?"

She shook her head. "That is yet another aspect of this illness that cannot be explained. Though I frequently visit Hiroshi and Kenji in their sickrooms, I have shown no sign of the disease. It is also thus with Kumiko, despite all the time she has spent with her brother. Some of the doctors have hypothesized that it is a sickness that only targets males, though they cannot say for certain."

"I see," said Miroku slowly, bringing his knuckle to his lips as he mulled over this new information.

"Now, if you will excuse me," Takara said as she stood from the table and bowed, "I'm afraid I have some business to attend to. Please give my regards to Sango-san."

He inclined his head respectfully and watched her leave, still lost in his thoughts. This situation was turning out to be even more complicated than he'd predicted.

.-.

There was something of a ruckus that evening due to a so-called "youkai invader" that had entered the village in an apparent "foul mood."

"Three guesses as to who this invader is," Sango muttered with a wry smile as she and Miroku hurried to the gate surrounding the castle. He grinned in response. They soon heard a familiar voice shouting outside the walls:

"Inuyasha, put your sword away or so help me I'm forcing that rosary right back on!"

"They're the ones picking a fight!"

"Will you _please _just show some _restraint_?"

Miroku called out to the befuddled guards who were now aiming their arrows at the squabbling pair below. "Excuse me, would you gentlemen be so kind as to allow my friends to enter?"

One of the few soldiers atop the gate who wasn't holding a bow turned around, and Miroku recognized him as the samurai general Kuromatsu Seiji. His expression was a mixture of ire and incredulity. "_These _are the companions you were expecting? A _youkai _and a… a…"

Saving the man the task of describing the oddly dressed young girl, Miroku gave him an apologetic smile and said, "I'm afraid so. But I can assure you they are both quite harmless. Especially the silver-haired one."

"_Oi, bouzu! _ Don't talk about me like I can't hear you!"

Just then, the gate slowly opened to reveal a grumpy hanyou and a weary teenage girl. Kagome lifted her head and gave her friends a tired smile. "Sorry about that, Miroku-sama."

Miroku returned the smile. "Not at all. I'm just glad you made it here all right."

Kagome made her way into the courtyard, holding out her hands and shaking her head helplessly. "Well, it might've been an easier trip if _someone _didn't have such a bad sense of direction."

"I knew _exactly _where we were going!"

.-.

Kumiko let out a noise of disgust as she retreated from the doorway where she had watched the new arrivals. She marched further into the castle, torn between horror and amazement.

_A hanyou! He really is friends with a half-breed! And what about that girl? That was the weirdest kimono I've ever seen!_

As if by instinct, she ended up in a deserted hallway on the far end of the house, a hallway that only she and her mother usually frequented. And so she was surprised to find that someone else was already there, staring up silently at one particular door.

Kumiko froze as a pair of wide, red eyes turned to regard her.

"You!"

The little creature responded with a flick of her twin tails.

"You, uhh…" Kumiko straightened her back and clenched her fists at her sides. "You shouldn't be here. That's my brother's sickroom, and outsiders aren't allowed to go in. So go on, get out of here!"

It was only when the creature – _Kirara_, the girl had called her – mewled innocuously that Kumiko realized the absurdity of her statement.

_I'm arguing with a kitten._

Head cocked, Kirara stood and approached Kumiko, and the girl flinched and began to back away; kitten or no, that creature was still a youkai.

Seeing Kumiko's reaction, Kirara paused her advance, but continued to regard the girl as if in curiosity. And though there was no other person present to witness her actions, Kumiko could feel her face burning with embarrassment.

_First I argue with it, then I get scared of it._

Kirara gave another tiny, innocent meow.

Casting furtive glances around her, Kumiko lowered herself onto her knees and slowly, ever so slowly reached out a trembling hand. Kirara remained perfectly still but for the gentle swaying of her tails. When the tips of Kumiko's fingers lightly brushed against the cat's head, Kirara began to purr.

Kumiko released the breath she had been holding, then giggled softly as Kirara pressed her head further into the girl's hand. Carefully scratching the little black ears, Kumiko remarked, "Some fierce youkai you turned out to be."

Kirara mewled cheerfully in reply.

Thoughtfully chewing her lip, Kumiko whispered, "Hey, I saw you looking at my brother's door a minute ago." Kirara looked up at her suddenly, ears perked forward. "Do you want to meet him?" Kumiko smiled. "I think he'd like the company."

Kirara meowed again and leapt into the girl's waiting arms.

.-.-.-.

.-.-.

Wow, thank you all for your comments! I know this fic hasn't gotten nearly as many reviews as some of my other stuff, but the reviews I do get for it are so thoughtful and insightful that it more than makes up for that. I'm so grateful to have such awesome readers. Thank you all so very much!

And now, a big thank you to TailFluffGirl for nominating this fic at the IY Fanfic Guild for Best Continuing Fiction, and to Moonlight Shadow and Numisma for nominating two of my other fics for Best One-Shot and Best Miroku/Sango. Of course, considering the competition, there was no way I was going to win in any of the categories, but I was honored to have my stories nominated.

And one last thank you, to Aino-kaachan, for offering to beta this story. Expect some major improvements on this and previous chapters soon.

Anyway, hope you're all enjoying the story! Thanks for reading!


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